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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866850">The Monster in a Dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling'>wonderlandiscrumbling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Nightmares, Smoking, Worries, mention of self-harm, mention of suicide, season 3 canon divergence, self doubt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:27:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed's nightmares get to him from time to time especially when they depict him killing the man he loves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Monster in a Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Was it still a nightmare if you were the monster in the dream? </p><p>Ed pondered this as he stared up at the bedroom ceiling, shuffling and the tug of the comforter caught his attention. He turned his head to see Oswald rolling onto his side, brow furrowed as he jerked the blankets up to his chin, face burrowing against the pillow nearest to Ed’s head. He could feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. Idly he wondered what he could be dreaming about; he wasn’t crying or thrashing about so it couldn’t be a nightmare or at least not a severe one. He gingerly stroked his fingers against his cheek, pet his fingers back through his messed black hair pushing it away from his face. He smiled softly as he watched his features relax, tension leaving his body as he fell back into a more peaceful state of sleep. He could still feel the ghost of a gun gripped in his hand, the metal cold and heavy in his grasp. He could hear the echo of Oswald's pleas and cries, a sound that caused his heart to clench in his chest. Ed brushed the pad of his index finger against Oswald's forehead between his brow, his skin smooth and soft. He pictured the way he'd looked in the nightmare, a small hole between his eyes, blood pouring from the hole down his face like a fountain, it had felt hot and sticky as it had splashed across his own face.</p><p>It sickened and scared him to think about, even now he was thinking of the countless ways that he could kill him. He could grab the knife from the bedside drawer and slam it into his heart or slit his throat, and watch him choke on his own blood, eyes wide with shock and betrayal as he looked into the eyes of his killer, his partner. A small part of his mind whispered to do it, do it just to do it, to prove that he could. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d taken another person’s life. It had to have been three or four months ago; their arrangement left little room for Ed to go out and take a life with his own hands. He often was left in charge of arranging violence, orchestrating it from afar; hiring assassins and assigning tasks to low level thugs. Sure, he could watch from the safety of his car as Zsasz took another man’s life, but it wasn’t him pulling the trigger. He missed killing, he missed the power of holding a knife in his hand, the blade sinking into somebody's chest, piercing flesh and muscle, blood hot and wet spilling from wounds, seeing their eyes gloss over as the life left them.  With the power came the loss of control though, his nightmare reminded him of that. He worried he wouldn’t stop, that his mind would splinter, and he’d again hurt somebody he shouldn’t, and he couldn't risk doing that.</p><p>Quietly he climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb the still sleeping man. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the bedside table before heading out the glass doors that lead out onto the balcony that oversaw the garden below. He felt less tense out in the cool night air, the light breeze caressing his sweat soaked skin. It had been a month already and he was adjusting to sharing a bed with another person; he’d shared a bed a couple of times with Isabella, they’d only had sex once, and he’d left quickly after that. </p><p>He lit his cigarette taking a long drag from it.</p><p>If he looked out far enough, he could just barely see the markers on the family cemetery. He thought about how Gotham was more graves than it was living bodies, every day a dozen or more people died, and it was rarely by disease or old age. He assumed he himself would die by violent means whether it be another or his own hands. Suicide wasn’t something he’d considered for some time; he remembered contemplating it after Kristen’s death, before that he’d attempted it at the age of thirteen. He took another drag from his cigarette, his hand shaky as he leaned against the railing. He could hear the faint sound of sirens, living on the outskirt of the city made him feel far removed from it. When he’d lived in his apartment on the southside of the city he’d been right in the gut of it. He missed it a little, though living in a mansion was nicer. Not that he necessarily cared about such things as he often tried to tell Oswald. He felt guilty the way his friend, his partner felt the need to shower him in designer suits and expensive gifts, it wasn’t something that Ed was accustomed to. He worried he felt like he had to do this for him to keep him around or to prove how much he cared for him. He wanted to tell him he knew, he knew that he cared, and he didn’t have any plans to leave him.</p><p>Though after that nightmare the foundation was shaky. It was just a nightmare, a stupid figment of his sleeping mind; it wasn’t anything to take to heart. He knew that he didn’t want to hurt him, he felt sick thinking about laying a hand on him in that way. Truthfully the thought reminded him of his dad, a thought that made him sicker as it lingered in his mind. He never wanted to scare Oswald like that, to hurt him. He….He loved him. The word love felt strange in his mind, completely foreign on his tongue, there was weight and promise in such a word, promise that he wouldn’t leave him and a promise that he would never hurt him. He wasn’t sure he could promise either of those things. He stubbed his cigarette out on the metal railing before tossing it to the ground. </p><p>He turned and went back into the bedroom quietly closing and locking the door behind him. </p><p>Oswald was sitting up in bed now staring at him, he looked like he’d just woken up a minute ago. </p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Ed apologized as he climbed back into bed desperate for the warmth of the comforters. </p><p>“It’s fine, are you okay?” He asked, voice sleepy, his hair was falling over his forehead again. </p><p>“Of course, I just….I needed some air, go back to sleep.” </p><p>Oswald stared at him a moment longer before laying back down, he grabbed Ed’s arm pulling him down along with him. He wrapped an arm around the other man’s waist pulling him against himself. Ed sighed as he placed a hand against his hip stroking his fingers up under his shirt to touch along pale freckled skin.</p><p>“You can talk to me, if something is bothering you.” He offered, caution in his voice as if he wasn't sure of the right thing to say.</p><p>Ed kissed the top of his head. He noticed that shift in things months ago, the way Oswald used to speak to him with such certainty, but ever since his feelings for him changed into something more he became more cautious as if he feared ruining things with the wrong mix of words.</p><p>“It was just a nightmare.” He assured him as he rubbed his hand along his side. “I-I had a nightmare that I shot you in the head.” He confessed with the thought that maybe talking about it would help.</p><p>Oswald pulled back to look at him. “Why did you shoot me?”</p><p>“Because I could”</p><p>He seemed to consider that answer for a moment. “Do you want to, now?”</p><p>Ed placed a hand against his cheek, “No, I don’t, I can’t imagine doing that to you.”</p><p>He could dream it but awake he couldn’t fathom it. The thought scared him, it made him want to hold him close and protect him.</p><p>“Good, I don’t think you would do that, hurt me.” His voice was gentle, soothing, Ed could believe him almost. “I trust you.” </p><p>He nearly wanted to warn him not to trust him; they were murderers and thieves, gangsters. They shouldn’t throw the word trust around like that, he shouldn’t be in bed with him like this with his defenses down, that loving gaze in his eyes, and telling him he couldn’t imagine Ed killing him or hurting him. He wanted to go into a tangent about how ridiculous and naïve it was to trust somebody, anybody that much, but was stopped when Oswald kissed him. He kissed him back with an eager desperation to chase his doubts and fears to the back of his mind, he curled his fingers in black hair that was getting a bit on the long side lately, he pulled his body close against his own feeling safety in the warmth and the heat of him knowing he was alive and unscarred, he was here, they were here, and he was safe in his arms.</p>
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